Reflections
by Ghanaperu
Summary: A series of random oneshots from different viewpoints. Some are sort of dark. Feel free to guess who you think is talking, cause I don't say.
1. Chapter 1 Notes

Notes

The notes wail through the breeze, and I could cry for them. For the story each one tells, of aching pain and numb hurt. They join together, crying a song of sadness. I listen closer though, and I hear the notes of joy mixed in. They laugh and clap their praises to the King, while the others play their aching. I want to be the joy note that sings in the midst of suffering; that reminds the rest that Someone's hands are playing us, and He can see the whole song, beginning to end. I shout my praise, and it rings through the air, whispers on the breeze, and echoes off the hills. He is alive!


	2. Chapter 2 Expectations

Expectations

I'm not supposed to still be grieving. I'm supposed to be over it, to be living my life. How can I forget that quickly? But I must. I must be silent. I must pretend it doesn't matter. I can, but I can't betray them. I will remember, even if I must do it silently! I will not forget, thought I must pretend I have. I have to keep it fake! I never want this to be real! What will I have left if I don't remember? Only emptiness. I cannot forget.


	3. Chapter 3 Blank Pages

Blank Pages

Empty pages. Blank, white paper stares at me. It says nothing, and I say nothing in return. We are alike in our silence – both waiting for another's hand to determine what we will be. I look harder, and see the invisible words. My pen traces them, reveals them. There is no more blankness. My hand has decided what it will be. I sit back. If I had written my own words, rather than the invisible ones already there, the page would still be blank. I do not want to end up a soiled blank page. I cannot stay blank, though I may want to; so I should at least like to say something of importance. I need someone who can read my invisible words, and reveal them. I will not be a soiled blank page. I will be full.


	4. Chapter 4 Apathy

Apathy

They're gone. I know it. I will never see them again. Never! Can you understand that? And I know it. I know it every day anew. And yet I must keep living, keep breathing, keep moving. How? It is too much to ask. I don't want to think. I don't want to decide. I don't want to feel. I just want to float along in the sea of life. I'm too tired to fight against the current. I just want to sleep. And you marvel at my apathy. You marvel! Are they supposed to mean nothing to me? How can I keep living? How? How can you? But I must be silent.

I must.


	5. Chapter 5 Action

Action

I stand, and I fight. I swing the sword with such vengeance that none can stand before me. I am silent, breathing heavily, movements precise. Everything is blacked out except my enemy. And then it stops. I blink and look down. My opponent wipes sweat away and says something, but I do not hear.

_I love the fights. Every thrust is for the people dying around me. Every block is triumph for my family. Every twist, spin, strike is for all the times I held my tongue at injustice. The sword flicks in and out, stinging people as my tongue should have. I love the fights – they are all action._

I reach down a hand and pull my partner up, sheathing my sword. The fight is over, for now. We will practice again another day.


	6. Chapter 6 Shadows

Shadows

Shadows. I sit on the park bench and see the flitting shadows of the dancing autumn leaves. They are but images of the real thing; darker, shallower images. I look into the mirror, and all I see are shadows. I see shadows of something great, shadows of honour, shadows of pride. They are but shadows of what used to be; darker counterfeits trying to replace the past. I know this is not what I am meant to be, but I cannot stop myself. Shadows are better than nothing. Aren't they? If the true things cannot be, then at least I have my shadows.

I fight over petty things – shadows of the noble causes I once fought for.

I boss my small family – shadows of the great kingdom I once ruled.

I write short essays – shadows of the grand challenges I once issued.

I play cardboard war games – shadows of the vast forces I once commanded.

I wear dark suits – shadows of the rich garments I once owned.

I eat expensive food – shadows of the sumptuous feasts once held in my honour.

My honour. I was great, once. I am only a boy now, a shadow of the king I once was.


	7. Chapter 7 Giving Up

Giving Up

There is nothing to say, and yet I write; as if writing empty, hollow words will bring back what I had. As if if I write it all out I'll care again. But I already know it won't work. My life is unraveling, and out of the helpless desperation that comes from being forced to do nothing I have shut down. I couldn't care now if I wanted to. What could I possibly say? Everything is gray; hopeless; endless. I have given up, and how could I possibly rationalize that? I can't; it's simple. I give up. The end.


	8. Chapter 8 Silence

Silence

I talk to Him, but I feel as if I am talking to an abstract person of my own making. I listen for a response, and I hear nothing but ringing silence. It screams at me, mocking me – He is not here. He does not care. You are faking it. – I should like to run away, but how does one run away from silence? I yell and talk and scream but still the silence is there, shouting its emptiness. I strain my ears for something – anything – but the deafening silence is overpowering. I hate silence. Silence cripples faith. Silence cripples _my _faith; plants the seed of doubt. I am still futilely hoping for sound, but logic tells me it will (can) never come. And still, I hear only silence.


	9. Chapter 9 The Message

The Message

I see them. Lying in the corner, collecting dust; they are forgotten. The penciled words slowly fade, the paper wears away. They were once vibrant and alive, dancing on the walls, shouting out their message to every passerby. Now they sadly whisper, but no one hears. No one but me. Only I see them as they used to be, see them as what they could be. The words fade, but their message does not. I listen to their dying whispers and receive their message. It grows in me until I cannot help shouting it out. And though they are gone, and I am fading, the message will endure. Other words will pass it on, other people listen and remember. I see them, crumbling with age, the joy stamped in them.


	10. Chapter 10 Chess

Chess

I sit and finger the silver knight. The board is in front of me, checkered squares calling. I put him back gently. I remember when these pieces of plastic stood for my men – when each move was an issue of life or death. The boy across from me is thinking only of strategy and winning; and I know he will win because I am being too cautious. I cannot think strategy – all I can see are the bodies of my men, men I led into battle, men who trusted me, men who died under my command. My opponent takes a pawn, and I desperately try to remember that this is only a game, even as my foolish emotions bring tears to my eyes for the fallen pawn. Suddenly I hate myself for playing against a child, a boy who has not even seen death, let alone caused it. I look into his eyes, and see no hint of deeper things.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I cannot play to-day."

And I leave abruptly, trying to save my dignity even as I struggle not to cry. Am I to be forever like this, bursting into tears over a simple game? This, I am sure, is not who I am meant to be.


	11. Chapter 11 Almost Memories

**Almost Memories**

I danced today. He came, and picked me up, and we went and danced together. He held my hand, and held firm my waist. The music was haunting. It sounded like the Dryad's music, and I almost thought I remembered the dance they taught me. But the almost memory fled, just like that, and was gone. I still don't remember.

He spun me around, and the whirl of the floor looked like the gold of Cair Paravel. I almost thought I could hear Mr. Tumnus laughing in the background. But his laugh faded, just like that, and was gone. I still hear only English accents.

He drove me home, and I closed my eyes and could see my brother waiting under the stars, under the dancing flags, for me to come home. I opened them and saw black road. We arrived home, and he kissed me goodbye. I tried not to remember anything; nothing but him and the moment.

He left, and I went inside. My brother was waiting, sitting in a fat chair under the yellow glare of the light. I passed him by, though I knew it was I he was waiting for.

I am upstairs now, alone. Everyone else has gone to bed, and only I am still awake. I cannot sleep, for in sleeping is dreams, and dreams are memories – fleeting memories that disappear once I wake up. When I sleep, I never want to wake up. I cannot remember except for then. Why can I not remember? I don't understand! I just don't understand. I want to remember. No, I don't. I want to be there. But remembering is the next best thing. I will sleep now. Maybe I will dream, and never wake up. One can always hope, right?


	12. Chapter 12 Finding Him

**Finding Him**

I thought it would be hard – really hard – to leave for good. And it was. It was as hard as getting on a train and leaving Mum behind; as hard as waving goodbye and still acting cheerful. It was as hard as going back to Narnia the second time, and seeing what it had become without us; as hard as becoming ancient history while still alive and young.

Leaving Narnia for good – for always – was a terrible thing. Especially since Narnia is where Aslan is. And I thought it would be too hard, impossible. And it was – until Aslan spoke. And then I realized, Aslan only sends those away who know Him well enough to find Him in their own world.

So I will find Him.

He wouldn't have sent me, sent us, away if we couldn't. So I am looking. I am looking for Him in my world. He said He was here, but I haven't found Him yet. If only He would speak to me! If only He would call my name, and call me "dearest", I would run to Him and love Him and stay with Him. But He hasn't. And I'm still looking. I will find Him. I will.


	13. Chapter 13 Just A Boy

**Just A Boy**

I was a king. I led my country into a Golden Age, for I was a great king. Who am I now?

I am just a boy.

Just a normal boy, with strange ideas and an overdeveloped sense of pride. No one can see the king inside me, the love and honor and responsibility I once had. Someone_ here_ once told me I walk with dignity. It's funny, because that is what they were always telling me to work on while I was _there_.

"You walk all slouched, like you're slinking in, ashamed of something," they told me.

Ashamed. Well, I'm ashamed now. I'm ashamed because I am a king, and I live like a boy. I have forgotten the skills I practiced so long, forgotten how to reason with people, forgotten everything I knew. I was a king. I hate past tense. I am a king. Right? I am a king without a kingdom. A ruler without subjects. I'm a boy in a land of men, struggling to prove myself. It is hopeless. I am only a boy. Just a boy.


	14. Chapter 14 My Heart

**My Heart**

I am here again. I am supposed to be happy – we are home again. But I'm not. Home is where the heart is, and my heart is in the past. My heart is ancient history, written in dusty scrolls and told around fires. My heart is dead, grieved for and buried many years ago. My heart is the people, the Beasts I knew. They are gone, and this is not home anymore. It is the same place, with the same name, but it is not the same at all. Nothing is the same. Nothing but Aslan. He is the last beat of my heart.


End file.
